


The Lovers' Tale

by georgygirl



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Anachronism Stew, Drama, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Magic, Mpreg, period typical religious attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 08:10:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14564724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/georgygirl/pseuds/georgygirl
Summary: For thirty-eight years, the House of Stark has ruled over these lands, first by Howard and then by his son Anthony. King Howard did his duty to sire an heir to continue the peaceful and prosperous reign the kingdom has enjoyed, but King Anthony, too enamored of his high chancellor, Steven, has no interest in following suit.Desperate times call for desperate measures.





	The Lovers' Tale

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted to my Tumblr, but I decided to post it here as well. This is just something I've been playing around with and is wholly anachronistic.

* * *

The King was still without issue.

Ten years King Anthony had ruled over these lands, having been anointed as such at the age of seventeen after the death of his father, King Howard. He was as good, if not better, a king as his father had been, and peace and prosperity had reigned over the lands for a now unbroken line of thirty-eight years combined between the rules of father and son.

But the King was still without issue.

King Howard had ruled over these lands for over twenty years before producing a viable, legitimate heir. There were bastards, of course. Howard was a strikingly handsome man with sharp eyes and a wicked smile, traits that had found their way into his only son. But none of these bastards could ever lay claim to the throne, as they had been born of affairs with mistresses or whores and not a virtuous and pious queen. Howard, in fact, did not himself take a queen until he was nearly fifty years of age, and then it was two miscarriages and a stillbirth before Anthony was even born. Quite possibly, if not for Anthony, there would have been no legitimate line of succession, and the kingdom would have fallen into disarray with no anointed ruler.

The Council…did not want to go through that again.

And so, from the moment Anthony had become King, the Council had been pressuring him to take a queen. Preferably a noblewoman of some standing, but after years of Anthony rebuffing their suggestions, which later turned into demands, they would even suffer a _common_ woman if need be.

But Anthony would have none of it. Anthony's…bed linens were already quite warmed, as it turned out.

It mattered not that the King was one of _those_. The King could take a candleholder to bed, and the Council, neither the Church, would not care much so long as he produced a legitimate male heir to the throne. But the King seemed to have no interest in producing an heir and securing his line and, thus, securing the continued peace and prosperity of the land his father had worked tirelessly to forge into one united kingdom. King Anthony was too busy cavorting with his high chancellor to bother with that.

Again, it mattered not to the Council that King Anthony would rather share his bed with his closest of advisors. It did, of course, but not in the 'sins of the flesh' way. It mattered in that the Council was utterly convinced that the High Chancellor, a former knight of the King's army called 'Steven,' was merely trying to secure what King Howard had once stupidly promised him as his young ward and apprentice.

King Howard had promised him his kingdom.

The High Chancellor's father, Joseph, had also been a knight of the King's army, but his mother had been of common birth. His father died before he was born, and his mother died early in his childhood, and the King had taken the young, penniless orphan under his wing. He'd had him educated and trained in battle, and Steven had proven himself to be a quick and intelligent young man as well as a formidable leader. By nineteen, he was leading the King's army, six-foot-two with dark blonde hair and eyes that changed from blue to green to grey depending on how the light hit them. A favorite of the young ladies at court, he was said to have been propositioned by several well-meaning noblemen eager to marry off their daughters to such a worthy 'catch' but had turned them all down because he was looking for 'love' not 'alliances.' And Steven, being the King's favorite, could do so. Howard had long wished he'd had a daughter of his own to marry off to his favorite knight, but he respected Steven's wishes to seek out love rather than forge a political alliance that would continue to help stabilize the kingdom. The birth of his own son had put to rest any wishes he may have had of leaving his kingdom to his favorite knight, but there was no doubt in the mind of any man on the King's Council that Steven, Earl of Brooklynd (a present from Howard on his eighteenth birthday), was conspiring to take what he felt was rightfully his.

Even if he had to seduce the prince to do so.

Anthony was an intelligent young man, but he also possessed a naiveté. Too often he had fallen into the trap of people that had wanted nothing from him but his name and his money. The Council had had to disentangle him from many an ill-match over the course of his young life, all because the young Anthony was a giver and a lover and a dreamer. Intelligent and cunning and a wise leader, yes, but also one that could easily fall into the charms of someone out to seek power, influence, and even the crown from him.

Anthony had been enamored of the handsome young knight from an early age. Ten years separated them, with Steven as the elder, though as far as the Council was concerned, the knight had not shown any interest in the young heir until after the death of the King. Perhaps knowing that he had forever lost any right, title, or claim to the lands that Howard had promised him, he sought to take them by other means — seducing a naïve, young king whose carnal urges overrode his better angels. He had secured himself a position on the King's Council, and, in almost no time, had secured for himself the position of High Chancellor, the King's closest advisor, and the one person King Anthony would listen to above all others.

It had seemed an easy fix at first. Surely, the son of a commoner would be ill-suited to politics and, thus, could easily be disregarded and removed from his post. But Steven, Earl of Brooklynd, King Howard's own protégé and his most fearsome knight, was more than just a 'pretty face.' He was wise beyond his years, quick and cunning like a fox, and ruthless when the occasion called for it. The son of a commoner, the people of the realm felt him to be one of their own, and his popularity knew no bounds. It was he and his band of men, a group someone had named the 'Avengers,' that had retaken the southern lands from the band of mercenaries whose crest bore the awful image of the many-headed Hydra.

In short, Sir Steven was too good and too popular to dispose of. Even if the Council _was_ convinced it was just part of a long-running scheme.

For ten years now, he had shared the bedchamber of the King, even though he had been given his own quarters in the castle. He was far and away the King's closest confidant, and the Council had only themselves to blame. Had they gotten rid of the Earl as soon as the new King had been crowned, they could have saved themselves all this trouble—

Like seeking out the aid of the witch.

The King was being obstinate as he was wont to do. He did not see it as a priority to produce an heir to the throne. This may be all well and good now when the King was still relatively young and in good health, but he would not always be so. He also had a bad habit of running off with Sir Steven and his _Avengers_ on their various and myriad adventures. The King was well-trained in combat, of course, but even a King anointed by God himself could fall in battle. And if the King were to fall in battle without an heir to the throne, Heaven help what would then become of the kingdom.

It was no secret amongst the castle denizens that the King liked to be _taken_ by his high chancellor. There were some that had suspected, when the King was young, that the rather soft features of his face proved that he was a female his father had dressed up in disguise. His enjoyment at being _taken_ by his high chancellor only fed those rumors. But the King's face had hardened and sharpened in the intervening years, and he'd even grown a dark patch of hair that framed his mouth at hard, sharp angles. His form was a bit stocky, like his father, but he did not bear any other physical hallmarks that were more to be found in women than in men. The carnal pleasures that the King enjoyed might have been similar to the kind that women enjoyed, but there was no mistaking the King for anything other than what he was.

Or was there?

The witch only known as 'Wanda' had a reputation that preceded her. One of the last purveyors of the practices of her native land, the Red Witch (so-named for the crackles of energy that were purported to spring forth from her fingertips) dabbled in the dark arts. She was claimed to have spells and potions and incantations for just about any means of influencing or even transforming man or woman. There were _things_ that could be _done_ , it was whispered — means of getting an heir to the throne even through a man as obstinate as the King himself. These were practices that predated Christendom and had fallen out of favor in the centuries since the conversion, and to some degree, they ran contrary to the teachings of the Church itself. If God had wanted the heir of King Howard to be able to conceive a child, then God would have given the King a daughter instead of a son. A son was to father an heir, not to conceive one himself.

But, as it was said, desperate times called for desperate measures.

Under cover of night, several members of the Council — once King Howard's Council — made the trek out to just beyond the reaches of the town's first fortifications, to a small stone cottage in the midst of a field. The flicker of candlelight could be seen through glass windows, and the Council took it as a good omen that their trek was not for nothing. The Red Witch was home, and they could only hope she would be most hospitable to them and their aims.

Upon reaching the door of the cottage, which appeared to open on its own volition, they were greeted with the humble homestead of the woman perhaps more feared than anyone in the kingdom. The High Chancellor had taken pity upon her, she herself having been orphaned at a young age, and through dealings with the King, he had allowed for her a small tract of land just beyond the village where she could practice her craft in peace.

There was a pot of something boiling on a hearth, a menagerie of candles with orange flames flickering in the night, and the witch herself — a thin woman with long hair and flashing eyes — sat at a table scripting something into a thick book.

"Well? Are you going to come in?" she asked in a heavily-accented voice, not even bothering to look up from what she was writing. "Or are you going to stand in my door and let all my heat out?"

The Council members, chastised by a woman they dared not cross, filed into the small room, the last member of which closing the door behind him.

"Good woman," one of them greeted, and she finally looked up at them, her mouth formed into a small purse while flashes of red lightning danced in her eyes.

The first Council member to speak stepped back, and another member stepped forward.

"We wish to have words with you," he said.

But the Red Witch just smiled, and she set her pen down and said, "I know why you are here. The King has not yet sired an heir, and you wish to know if there is anything I can do about that."

The Council members exchanged looks, and the third one that had not spoken yet said, "How did you—"

"I know everything," she explained simply. "I have been waiting for you."

She motioned out over the table before her, and it was then that the Council members realized there were three place settings, a bowl and a goblet placed in each spot.

"Please. Sit."

She nodded at the table, and the Council felt there was little to be done except to follow her command. They each took one of the designated spots while the Red Witch said, "Viz, please serve our guests."

"Of course," rang out an accented voice different from the witch's, and the Council caught their first glimpse of the being it was said that the witch herself brought to life from straw and some old rags. He was tall, fair-haired and with fine features. He gave a sort of smile to the Council before he produced a bottle of mead and began to fill their goblets. There were rumors in the town that his skin was of a purplish tinge, but upon close inspection, it appeared to be only mottled with dirt and use, and the Council could only figure that the stories of the witch bringing the man called 'Viz' to life had been greatly exaggerated.

Once the Council had been served, 'Viz' sat in a chair in the corner and worked at whittling something from a piece of wood while the Red Witch turned to them and got down to business.

"You wish me to do something to allow the King to produce an heir," she said as they were taking their first bites of what could, at most, be called a 'stew' but was more than likely little more than 'gruel.'

"If that is in your powers," the first man to speak said.

"There is little that is not in my powers," she said, and she cast a glance over to 'Viz' after she said this, smiling at him faintly before turning back to the Council. "You wish him to fall in love with a wealthy noblewoman?"

"That would, of course, be easier," the first man to speak said. "But the King seeks his nightly _comfort_ with the _High Chancellor_."

"He is a good man," the witch said, almost as though she dared any of the Council to speak out against him.

"He is preventing our kingdom from having a God-anointed heir!" the third man said. "The King will not even think of doing right by his people so long as the _High Chancellor_ keeps his bed warm!"

"You wish me to do something to the Chancellor?" she asked the Council, but by the tone in her voice and the flash of red in her eyes, it was apparent that their answer to that query could very well be a matter of 'life' and 'death' for them.

The Council was silent for a moment, not one man daring to speak, until the second man to speak that night said rather diplomatically, "The King needs an heir. There is no question about that. Were the King to, Heaven forbid, die tomorrow, there would be no God-anointed heir to take his place. It is quite possible and more likely than that _probable_ that the kingdom would fall into disarray and turmoil. It has been not even forty years since the late King Howard unified the country under his rule. His son shows little interest in sowing the seeds of his family's continued rule."

The witch braced her elbows on the table and pressed her fingertips together as though forming a steeple with her hands.

"And what do you wish me to do about that? You distrust the Chancellor and think him to be using the King to take over a kingdom that had been promised to him by the King's father."

The Councilors shared looks with each other at that, those words having not been spoken to anyone outside of private meetings deep within the confines of the castle.

"I told you," she said in that accented voice of hers, now pouring herself a cup of the mead she had offered to her guests, "I know everything. I know you distrust the Chancellor but you are wise enough to know that if anything _unnatural_ were to happen to the Chancellor that the kingdom would fall into turmoil."

She set the bottle of mead down and spoke to each of the men sitting at her table in turns.

"I know you wish you had disposed of him before the King had been crowned and you are now stuck with him. I know you wish you had more control over the King, and it angers you that a _commoner_ has the ear of the God-anointed ruler of the realm. I know you have come to me hoping for an easy way to fix this problem you appear to have. The King and his chancellor have been good to me. I will not lift one finger to hurt either of them."

"But the King needs an _heir!_ " the first man cried, exasperated by what he took to be the witch's rebuff of their demand.

"Perhaps an heir is not fated to be," the witch said.

An odd chill overcame the room at that, but there was no breeze to produce it, the flickers of candlelight dancing as they had been in the moments before the chill, and the man or creature known as 'Viz' continuing to sit in his chair and whittle his piece of wood.

"You can't be serious!" the second man said. "Do you not know what this will mean for the realm if there is no heir apparent were the King to meet his God?"

The witch merely shrugged like this bothered her not. "Nothing lasts forever," she said simply and as though there was a greater meaning behind it.

The last hope of the Councilors all but crushed, the third man pushed his bowl of untouched stew away and said, "I believe we are done here."

He stood from his seat, the other two following suit, and it was not until they were at the door that the witch spoke again.

"There is _something_ I can do."

The men stopped and turned back to her, and knowing they were verging on making a bargain with Lucifer himself, the first man to speak that night said, "And that would be?"

The Red Witch stood from her seat at the table, and she moved over to them with a grace they did not think to be the provenance of such _earthy_ people and stood before them, flickers of red dancing in her eyes.

"You must accept that you will never be rid of the Chancellor," she spoke, slowly, perhaps her accent and her native tongue making the vowels and consonants have difficulty tripping over her tongue. "He is the King's beloved. You know even better than I do that the Archbishop secretly united them in the sacred bonds of matrimony, and those are not so easily broken."

_No one_ outside the walls of the castle had known about that silly and ridiculous — and legally binding — ceremony. How did—

"The Chancellor is his beloved and his lawful wedded. And so goes the Chancellor, so goes the King."

Accepting that they would never be rid of the Chancellor was a tough pill to swallow, but the witch was right. The King, that silly, stupid romantic, had somehow talked the Archbishop into performing a marriage ritual for him and the Chancellor. If the Councilors had thought that reason would prevail at the last moment and the Church would look down upon the marital union of two _men_ , they thought wrong. The King and his Chancellor were Godly men, popular and righteous. A request from the King was tantamount to a demand, and while the Church was recently finding itself in a power struggle with the King, the Church elders were not about to sign their names to the fallout that might occur if they did not heed the demand of the King. Not yet. Not over something like this. If that silly and stupid King wanted to be legally wed to his closest advisor, who just so happened to be a man, then so be it. It mattered not to them.

Should the King wish to jockey with them for _land_ that the Church rightfully owned or wished to own, however…

So, unless they were able to break the bonds of matrimony between the King and his chancellor — through death was about their only option at this point — they would have to accept that the only union that could provide a legitimate heir to the throne was the union between the King and the Chancellor. If the witch could give them what they most desired — an heir to the throne — even if it was somehow through the union of the King and the Chancellor, then so be it.

"We accept that," the first man said.

She nodded, and without a word, she moved over to an elegantly-arranged shelf filled with small glass vials and bottles filled with colorful liquids. She chose one of the smallest ones and took that into her grasp, and she picked up a small sachet tied with a ribbon. She carried them back over, and with a smile dancing on her lips, she said a very knowing, "I knew you would." She held up the small vial that was filled with an amber liquid. "Two drops of this into the King's wine every night for seven nights."

She handed the vial over to the second man then held up the small sachet.

"On the seventh night, sprinkle this onto the food of the King and his Chancellor. One pinch for the Chancellor, and three pinches for the King."

She handed that over to the third man, and the first man said, "What will this do?"

She gave them a slow-spreading smile. "You wish the King to produce an heir to the throne. I am giving you what you desire."

The first man looked at the vial in the hands of the second man and the sachet in the hands of the third. "But what will this _do?_ "

The broad smile had let to leave her face. "The King prefers to be taken by his Chancellor. Normally, the man cannot conceive. Give this to him, and he will."

"A _child?_ " the second man all but cried, clutching tight to the vial in his hand.

"An _heir_ ," the witch said. "You wish him to have an heir, there is no other way. Not so long as the Chancellor has breath in his body and the two remain united as one."

"This is impossible!" the first man cried out. "Men cannot _conceive!_ "

She nodded at the small implements she had handed to them. "Give those to him exactly as I said and he will." She then shrugged and added, "Or do not. And risk having no heir to the throne."

"If we just get rid of the Chancellor—" the third man muttered to the others, but the witch turned to him.

"If you _get rid_ of the Chancellor, you will be doing the kingdom much more harm than you can imagine," she said, her voice dark and low, and another odd chill overcame the men. "I would not even entertain such thoughts."

The Councilors exchanged looks with one another, and as they did, the witch said, "If you wish the King to have an heir, then do as I say. Otherwise, the King will die childless, and the kingdom will descend into much turmoil."

It could have been that the witch was exaggerating or downright lying to get her way, but the witch had also been privy to information that she could not possibly have known. It was quite possible that she was telling the truth — that this was the only way that King Anthony could ever produce an heir. It was also possible that the witch's powers were not as vast and as great as she herself thought. There may have been jokes when the King was young, but there could be no doubt that the King was as much a man as any of they were, and history — and God — had proven that men just did not conceive. _Women_ conceived. That was the God-given duty and provenance of women. Men did not, and it seemed unlikely that even the spells and potions of the Red Witch could change such a fact.

But desperate times called for desperate measures.

They took the offered items and bid the witch 'good night.'

Not one man that attended that meeting with the witch believed her powers extended to granting man the ability to conceive a child, and there was much discussion with the other members of Council whether attempting such a feat was even worth it. It would not cost much in terms of time or effort to follow the instructions she had supplied them with. A few drops in a cup of wine each night for seven nights. A pinch of the proffered herbs on the meal plate of the Chancellor and three on the plate of the King. What was supposed to happen after that was up to God himself, and so the Councilors did as they were instructed. Two drops of the amber liquid were put into the King's wine glass at supper. If the King noticed a change in the taste of the beverage, he said nothing. For seven nights, they followed this. On the seventh night, they sprinkled one pinch of herbs over the meal presented to the High Chancellor. Three pinches went over the meal presented to the King. For all they knew, they were slowly poisoning their God-anointed monarch, and for that, they would face not only the law of man but the judgment of God Himself, but the King seemed to be in exceedingly good spirits that night, laughing and talking and gazing even more lovingly than usual at his high chancellor. The King and the Chancellor retired at their usual hour, heading in separate directions as always, though only an idiot would think they weren't intending to meet up. Once most of the staff had retired for the night, the Councilors quietly made their way to the chapel, lit candles, and prayed for understanding and penance from God, whose very law they may have just questioned.

All in the name of securing the Stark line — and the peace their kingdom had known for decades — for one more generation.

**Author's Note:**

> There are plans to continue this, if anyone is interested, though how soon I can get to it is anyone's guess.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and kudos and comments are more than welcome. :)


End file.
